Once, I was in New York,in Central Park, and I sawan old man in a black overcoat walkinga black dog. This was springtimeand the trees were stillbare and the sky wasgray and low and it began, suddenly,to snow:big fat flakesthat twirled and landed on theblack of the man's overcoat andthe black dog's fur. The doglifted his face and staredup at the sky. The man lookedup, too. "Snow, Aldo," he said to the dog,"snow." And he laughed.The dog lookedat him and wagged his tail.

If I was in charge of makingsnow globes, this is what I would put inside:the old man in the black overcoat,the black dog,two friends with their faces turned up to the skyas if they were receiving a blessing,as if they were being blessed togetherby somethingas simple as snowin March.